


Like Drowning

by entanglednow



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Biting, M/M, Rough Sex, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-12
Updated: 2010-05-12
Packaged: 2017-10-14 14:32:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/150262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entanglednow/pseuds/entanglednow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucifer strays where he's not allowed, and Sam falls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Drowning

Sam has the shower, while Dean goes out to pick up food. Getting all the hot water is a bonus he's damn sure he's going to take advantage of. Because he'd spent all night being thrown around by ghosts and every bone is ringing a slow, unhappy song of misery, no matter how deep he pushes himself under the hot spray.

There's an ache between his shoulder blades that's going to turn into stiffness no matter what he does, and he gets the feeling his arm is going to twinge for days. Only living with Dean for so many years has forced him to pick up his own mask of indestructibility. So he'll be damned if he can actually act like anything hurts.

He leans his forehead on the wall, just lets the water pour down over him and it's bliss for long seconds.

Until his waist is caught, in brutally strong fingers.

Sam makes a noise and jerks his head out of the spray.

He recognises the slow, dark breath of laughter in his ear, though that doesn't stop the flood of adrenaline. It doesn't make him relax.

"You're not supposed to be here," he says quietly. Because this thing is fucked up enough as it is without giving Dean more ammunition.

"Shall I leave then?" Lucifer's thumbs drift lazily on wet skin, testing it.

Sam bites back the instant reply to that, shakes his head instead, flicking water everywhere.

There's a slow rumble that sounds amused and the hands on his waist slide on wet skin in a way that manages to be suggestive and borderline threatening at the same time. Sam has no idea when that started working for him. Lucifer eases him back until the wet length of his chest is pressed into Sam's back, fingers slipping back down to cradle his hips, tilting them until the water can't run between them. The devil is impossibly warm, warmer than the water.

Sam grunts protests but doesn't resist, doesn't pull away. Lucifer fingers spread and dig and crush him back into the steadily hardening weight at his crotch. Demand and intent and Sam can't help but spread his legs just a little and let Lucifer's cock slide in the crease of his ass.

A low, flaring exhale flutters over the back of his neck.

"Put your hands on the wall," Lucifer says. His voice is roughness and honey in Sam's ear, and the drag of stubble on the bare slickness of his neck is deliriously good.

Sam grunts and obeys, leans forward into his hands. The spray hits his shoulder and back, spattering up onto the plane of his face.

There's the faraway clatter of bottles and then Sam's listening to Lucifer stroke lotion or shower gel, or whatever the hell it is, over himself. Before pressing a finger into Sam, just one, a careful slow slide, curious and indulgent.

That's all Sam will get, barely enough preparation, before he fucks him. Because Lucifer wants him to feel it. He always wants him to feel it, now and later. When he's gone,  when Sam's cleaning his guns, or researching for their next hunt, or listening to Dean eat the stupid pizza. Lucifer wants him to feel this all night and tomorrow.

Fuck, Sam's fairly sure he wants to feel it too.

He let's himself be pushed into position, lets Lucifer's body press into him and then lets his cock press _inside_ him. It's a heavy push that opens him all the way up, leaves him gasping and open-mouthed, fingers going white on the wet tiles. While he takes and takes. Until he's filled all the way. Filled and aching and trembling with it.

"Fuck, please, Lucifer, please." He's not even ashamed any more of how breathless he sounds, under the raw ache in his voice.

There's a steady impatient slide and push, quick and deep. It leaves Sam making hard, helpless noises. They're shoved all the way out of him with every thrust and Lucifer's hand digs into his hair, jerks his head back. Hard enough to hurt, and Sam takes that too, the sharp sting of it. Because everything with Lucifer is always bright light and edges. Everything hurts until it's good, or is good enough that it hurts, over and over.

It goes on forever, one brutal, rough thrust after another and Sam's not even bothering to hold in the groans and gasps and curses that fall free. Every one somewhere between accusation and desperate plea.

Lucifer drags his head to one side, mouth against his ear. Voice soft and low and dangerous and he makes so many promises, all mixed in with demands and threats and Sam knows he means every word, every single word. And he shouldn't love that so much, he shouldn't love _him_ so much. But he does, and he’s fucked, so very fucked. He gasps at the drag and scrape of teeth over his shoulder, following the long bend of his neck. Lucifer finds somewhere delicate and fragile, somewhere that will _show_ and bites down hard.

Sam jerks and cries out and comes against the wall, one broken, filthy shudder after another. Until he's not the only one coming and he's slammed into so hard that every inch of him hurts, left to take Lucifer's pleasure as well as his own.

"Mine," Lucifer tells him and Sam hisses and gasps and nods his head, one rough, awkward movement that seals his fate, every damn time.

He's left breathless and shaking, against the wall, still and aching and alone.

The water's almost cold where it hits his skin.


End file.
